'I'm not crazy, I just do thing in unusual ways.'

My dad late Monday night.  So now I guess I am an orphan?  All I want is to hug my brother and cry. Who knows when I'll get that opportunity. I'm sitting in a café at the Hook of Holland, contemplating a windswept walk back to the Ferry terminal.  I'm contemplating not getting on the ferry. Or not getting off the ferry. I'm contemplating a nap but eyes stay open behind my lids. 

My dad  was born in the Pine Belt town of Waynesboro, Mississippi.  Raised on a cattle ranch, he maintained a practical, level-headed approach to life.  'There's  little you cain't learn from life watchin' a cow.  Just don't stand behind 'em. They'll kick hard.' But he didn't love the land and he left as soon as the opportunity to leave - wrapped in the guise of a draft notice - arrived on his doorstep.

In 1970, he joined the US Navy, serving as welder aboard the USS Mt Whitney, an amphibious Blue-Ridge Class ship of the American Command Atlantic Fleet.  He met his wife of 39 years Peggy on a blind date in Norfolk, Virginia in March, 1974. They married in 1976. After a break in service, Jim joined the US Army in 1976. His first duty station was Stuttgart, Germany.  His career was varied and adventurous, moving between active duty Army, the Mississippi and Ohio National Guards before retiring fully in 2011. In 2013, he and Mommy started. Their own transport company and traveled the length and breadth of North America. Of course, her high point became his bottoming out after the whole explosion.

He taught welding, managed protocol for generals, drove for a Sergeant Major, built two dream houses and made all manner of Howse family shenanigans possible. He was dreamboat handsome with a wicked laugh. And so handy. Sometimes I wish he had taken more of an interest in making sure I was handy. 

Don't get me wrong, he could be a total bastard. I remember a few key examples like the time he insisted I bring him something - maybe a drink? - and it required walking through fire ants. I was four and the ants covered me. I still have a scar behind my ear and on my ankle.  And he had a way with the backhanded compliment that could leave you wondering if you were going quietly mad. 

What else can I say? Jim was a laid-back, easy going guy, right up until he wasn't. He loved his wife, his kids, bourbon, NASCAR, the New Orleans Saints, and his friends, though later years he became a hermit, after my mom died. Mad, rambling, it was a Midwestern take with a Southern Gothic protagonist on Tom Stoppard's Arcadia. 

So, now I choose what comes next, choose the narrative, choose how the story shapes itself, for myself and the kiddos, as much as we ever can.  But it's weird, because there are still so many days I still think he's 45 and I'm 17.